Perfect Faults
by SamuelSpaz
Summary: Trinity and Smith suddenly find themselves on the same side of the battlefield. AT and eventual Trinity/Smith. My first story, please R&R!
1. I

This is my very first fanfiction, so be kind! I wanted to explore a Trinity and Smith interaction because it seemed an interesting and challenging idea and as the story goes on I do intend to make it more romantic (sort of) as the story progresses...I also name this as an AT because I tried to start at the beginning of the first Matrix movie and just rework the plot, but essentially it seems like I am now just going to end up replacing the movie with one of my own :) Anyway, enjoy! And for legal reasons I should say here that I do not own the Matrix, either it's concepts or it's characters; those are the rightful property of Warner and Waschowski Bros. This is just for fun and not for profit. Now, curtain up!

**Perfect Faults**

"She got out."

--

Trinity's eyes fluttered open, despite her pounding heart. She breathed deeply, just to check that she really was all there, and sat up briskly in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Morpheus, his grimace from the previous moments still frozen across his face.

"Trini—"

"I'm fine."

She cut him off and swung her legs around to disembark the chair. Her movements were less graceful than usual and her shaky hands reached out to grasp the armrest for support. Her upset was clear, but as the captain raced over to help her, Trinity decisively landed on her feet, immediately heading towards the door. Morpheus halted her as she reached the threshold.

"Trinity," he spoke softly, "what happened?"

Whether his question was an order, Trinity didn't know, but her only response was a quick glance over her shoulder at him and the crew. She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact though, and the motion was over as soon as it had begun. Hiding her embarrassment and shame under her usual stone facade, Trinity left the room.

--

A mere few hours after this inexplicable exchange, Trinity once again found herself inside the central control room, looking over Tank, eyes glued to the screen.

"On the corner there."

Trinity pointed to the scrawling green digits.

"That's where the club is. I need to end up somewhere in the vicinity, so I can easily intercept him."

Tank turned and looked at her in an unsuccessful attempt to read her thoughts. Trinity replied with an expression of gratitude. Out of all the members of the crew, he was the only one who had not inquired about the events of the day. Although she knew that it may have simply been that he was the only one watching the Matrix closely when she was inside, Trinity still felt that twang of so expressed gratitude.

"Morpheus isn't going to like this, you know," Tank declared.

"Unless you tell him, he isn't going to know."

Tank sighed.

"I need to speak with him. Under the radar, I mean. Today was…" she searched for the right word, "…unexpected. But inevitable."

His interest aroused, Tank perked up at this. Trinity lifted an eyebrow.

"And you know I won't tell," he conceded after a minute.

Trinity smiled for the first time that day.

"Thank you, Tank"

"Just come back"

Trinity's smile faded as she turned to climb into the chair. One more glace to Tank and then everything went black.

--

The first thing Trinity saw when she opened her eyes was a brick wall draped with clambering ivy. Darkness covered the still world. Her eyes trailed up along the wall, which revealed itself as the windowless side of what she assumed was an apartment building, reaching into the sky about fifteen stories or so. The space was a small courtyard, no bigger than a large closet.

Eager to leave this enclosure, Trinity found her way down an alley and past a few more large brick buildings to the street. The neighborhood wasn't quite what she had imagined, with more class and age than expected. But a glance down the street showed her what she had come for, the club. A black box sat at the end of the street, with the lights and music blaring from it resonating against the quiet, cold bricks of the surrounding buildings. The modern structure and design contrasted so greatly in fact, that it looked out of place to the point of a mistake. But, she thought to herself, every mistake here was planned.

Walking stealthily along the sidewalk, she kept in the shadows of the other buildings. When she reached her destination, she crossed the street into the light. As green and white waves washed over her pale face, Trinity fought her way through the mass of people near the door. The crowd was too great though and she could tell that entry would not be quick or free. Not by this entrance at least.

Inching her way to edge, she finally broke free and started towards the corner of the building. To her surprise, no one stopped her as she ducked down the alleyway. Not to her surprise, the lone door decorating the side of the building was locked.

In a split second she had made her decision and, hoping no one waited on the other side, slammed her body with full force into the door. She crumpled to the ground, already feeling the bruise on her shoulder form. The door hadn't budged. Trinity leapt to her feet, this time producing a perfect blow with her heavy boots. It didn't so much as dent or scratch the smooth, black surface. Its only effects were on Trinity herself, who now had to deal with the growing pain in her ankle. Geez, she thought, what was the building made of? She cursed under her breath.

"Having trouble?" said a slow, steady voice, "Maybe I can help."

Trinity lifted her head to stare straight into a shaded face, one that had caused her so much pain already. Agent Smith.

--

A/N: What do we think? Yay? Blah? IDK?


	2. II

Yay! Second chapter...don't expect updates everyday, though, this is only because it's the weekend :) Just a warning, there is some swearing in this chapter, nothing serious, but just saying in case it offends anyone. And I honestly have no background knowledge on fighting/kung fu techniques, so bear with me. I'm too lazy to look anything up and I just write something that sounds cool...once again, I still don't own the Matrix...

--

Trinity turned slowly to face Smith, well aware that he was blocking her one and only exit. This was definitely not how she had planned this little outing to play out.

"Oops?" said Smith, "Make a mistake?"

Inside, Trinity gnawed away with frustration that he could read her like that. No one else could. Fueled by this new anger, she made a quick attack to Smith from the left, which he quickly deflected and returned with one of his own. She easily evaded by flattening herself up against the far wall of the alley. Smith brought a punch to her head, but made contact with the wall as Trinity avoided by ducking. She brought her left leg up and almost caught him with a kick to the side. He took a step back just in time and Trinity lost her balance, falling into him. Immediately, she felt the butt of his gun stab into her side.

Smith didn't wait for her to answer.

"Let's head inside, shall we?"

The weapon retreated as he reached over and grabbed her upper arm, although he needn't have, as Trinity knew better than to argue with a man who had a gun. Now if only _she_ could get the gun somehow…

Smith reached his other hand inside his breast pocket and produced a small, silver key, which perfectly fit into the keyhole hidden beside the door handle. The door opened with a small high pitched squeal and a musty smell floated out from the dark interior. Smith firmly flung Trinity into the black.

After Smith let the door shut, Trinity waited for about 3 seconds before she sensed him approaching her from behind. She debated an escape, which would be aided by the dark, but before she could move, a sharp prod in the lower back told Trinity that the gun had returned.

They stood for about twenty-five more seconds in the blackness, during which the following conversation ensued.

"Why are you here?"

"Same reason as you."

"You have a death wish."

"No more than you."

"True…but the difference is that to me, the word 'death' is nothing but a means of extermination. I cannot die."

"If in that sense, then neither can I."

"What?"

The lights from the dance floor, which was probably no more than a room of partygoers away, flashed through a doorway, briefly illuminating the space. They were alone, but a mob of people could be seen through the door. Smith attempted to steer Trinity in that direction, but the light was gone as quickly as it had come. Trinity used the darkness to finish.

"My mind may be yours right now, right here, but you fail to realize that 'here' doesn't exist. I have been freed and nothing you do can take that away. I have escaped the cave. I don't fear death and especially not death by your hand."

Trinity thought she heard Smith make a noise as if he was going to say something, but when he didn't, she dismissed the thought. The light returned after a few more seconds and this time they made it to the door.

For the second time that day, Trinity found herself threading her way through a mass of people. She decided that it was considerably more difficult when you were a hostage. As they squeezed their way through, she discretely glanced around, looking for a weapon or anything that could be used as one. But unfortunately her efforts were to no avail.

Instead, she noticed a man, standing with his back to them against the far wall. Despite that fact that he stood in the shadows, she could still see that he clashed with the exotic and scantily clad patrons on the dance floor in a rather rumpled grey T-shirt and jeans. Why did she recognize that outfit so? Before she could rack her brain any further, a sharp jab told her to move faster.

They kept pushing their way through the crowd. About two rows of pulsing dancers away from the edge, a tall, burly man with a mustache confronted Smith.

"Whaddaya know? If isn't Mr. Prissypants!"

The man gave the agent a playful, yet menacing punch to the shoulder.

"Pardon," Smith replied, offering one of what he considered his unparalleled death stares, "Do I know you?"

The man didn't catch the subtext, as Smith's message of 'piss off' was hidden beneath his ominous sunglasses, and continued.

"Well, you should…you better. Let's see…the intersection of 23rd and 50th, two nights ago?"

Smith shook his head, his patience for this loud, obnoxious, and quite obviously drunk person wearing thin.

"You and your stupid cronies wouldn't shut the hell up!"

The man took another swagger towards Trinity and Smith, his voice racing faster, his rage more than apparent.

"What are ya? A cop? Jesus…gunshots, and shouting and sirens disturbing my precious rest! Ricocheting off the buildings and windows…You dented my goddamn car! My 1985 red Mustang…"

By this time the twenty or so people around them had stopped partying and were watching intently. The drunken man lowered his voice in an attempt to be serious.

"That, that car had sentimental value…"

Trinity thought it best not to ask or even imagine how anything could have sentimental value to this blubbering fool.

"And I come out and, very reasonably, ask you to leave…"

Trinity demoted him from fool to complete moron.

"And!" the man announced triumphantly to spectators, whose numbers grew exponentially with every new bit of info he shouted, "You snubbed me! Just turned on your heels and walked away. Humph! Just like that!"

The man's voice cracked with the last statement and he looked as if he might break down into tears. While this rather emotional man may have needed therapy, Smith looked like he needed to take a deep breath and count to ten.

"I don't have any idea what you are talking about," he spat through his gritted teeth, "but if you don't mind, I have somewhere to be."

As Smith turned to leave, the man violently grabbed his arm and yanked him back into the space that the crowd had cleared for them. In doing so, the gun, which Smith had cunningly concealed all this time, left the indent it had been slowly carving into Trinity's back.

Immediately, she saw her opportunity. She took it. All she needed to dislodge the weapon from the unsuspecting Smith's hand was a brisk kick about mid-arm. And so she delivered one. The hand-held flung into the air as Trinity, much to the amazement of crowd, made a quick move to get it. In less then a few seconds, she was holding the deadly weapon straight at Smith's brow. The tides had turned.

Smith concern was evident, but that didn't stop him from smiling his tense, automated smile.

"You'll still be dead," he answered slyly, his well meditated response to her previous attack in their battle of the wits.

"So be it," she cooed softly, as she prepared to pull the trigger.

But before she could, another shot rang out.


	3. III

Chapter 3 is here! Before I start, I just wanted to say thank you for the wonderful feedback…it's unbelievably encouraging to know that some one likes your work :) I hope this chapter isn't overwritten, I had some difficultly with the wording, but you probably don't really want to hear about that and so spaz shuts her trap now. On that note, a tad but more swearing ahead. And I promise more Trinity/Smith shippy stuff to come…I'm still working on building their relationship up. Pardon the incredibly short chapters thus far. Once more, I own nada. Enjoy!

--

Trinity knew she hadn't fired; her fully loaded weapon still weighed heavily in her hand.

The crowd went silent; the air filled with tension.

In an incalculable instant, Smith became transparent, allowing a bullet to pass through him. Reality seemed to slow as she watched Smith evade it with a simple ease heighted by the moment. She almost contently observed the scene, but soon her curiosity got the better of her.

Still firmly pointing the gun at Smith, her head snapped around to see the bullet's origin. Time zoomed back to normal speed. An Agent stood across the room, his feet spread apart to give him a firm, grounded stance. His arms remained at attention, grasping a gun identical to Smith's, the one currently in Trinity's possession.

Too busy to bother locating the bullet's final location, Trinity stood in incredulity.

Her heart pounded in her chest while her brain nearly fried itself trying to make sense of the situation. Another Agent at the club was not only fairly conceivable, but an understandable strategic move. Yet hadn't the Agent just shot at _Smith_? And a mistake was out of the question as Agents, for the most part, didn't miss their targets. At least not by the couple of feet now dividing Trinity and Smith. Who was he? Though he certainly looked like one, was he really an Agent?

Trinity flicked her head back to Smith, whose face displayed a reaction identical to her own. For once, she welcomed the association with him, as it justified her doubt. The moment was short lived, though, as the reality came screaming back. Literally. Chaos was in full order across the dance floor; some people screamed and ran, while others hid and a few hopeful ones pretended as if nothing had happened.

She took a quick step back and surveyed the space. The entrance, as indicated by the fleeing crowd, was just beyond the next room. Keeping the weapon facing Smith, she began briskly walking backwards, her glances going between Smith and the inexplicable Agent.

A split second before she stepped out of the green tinged center of the room, she took one last look towards the Agent. He, at some point during Trinity's retreat, had lowered his gun. But now both he and the gun were nowhere to be seen.

As Trinity instinctively turned to find him, a screaming red-headed woman rushed past her, shoving her to the side. At the same time the woman fell, taking a bullet that Trinity knew was for her. Trinity's alarm, which had been growing with every panicked guest she saw, gave way to paranoia. Trinity could handle combat; she handled it better than most other females and better than most males, for that matter, but not in this over stimulating, dizzying setting. With flashing lights and scared bodies surrounding, she was just a young girl, lost in the chaotic madness of the world. Her weapon lay forgotten in her hands. To her left, a man tripped over another, sending the group of girls in front of them sprawling. A woman frantically ran it the opposite direction, pushing against the flow of the pack. A young man bumped into Trinity. She heard the sound of a gun over the noise and cringed.

The young man's hand found its way to her wrist and as she was briskly dragged out of the flow, she realized that her savior was Agent Smith. He flung her against a wall and Trinity's momentary relief quickly dissipated. His confused face looked directly into hers.

"Do you know him?" she blurted.

Smith's face hardened.

"I thought I did," he replied.

While Trinity contemplated his statement, her gaze focused past him, over his shoulder. It focused on the being now standing no more than ten yards away, holding a deadly weapon.

"Get down," she ordered, and, without thinking, pulled Smith with her to the ground.

A shell shattered the wall where their heads had been mere moments before, spewing debris. As the shooter took aim again, Trinity rolled across the floor, leaving Smith where he was this time.

She had expected the coppertops to be intelligent enough to instinctively move out of the way, but one didn't. The sound of another bullet heightened her urgency.

"Move, you moron!" she screamed at him.

Trinity gave the man in her way a shove and in doing so realized that he was at her level. She stopped and began to recognize the body's grey, baggy clothes, clothes that she recalled from a faint memory. Rolling the man over, she noticed blood trickling from his gut. It seemed that the Agent's first stray bullet had found another mark. With horror and disbelief, Trinity's eyes began to work their way up his lifeless body. She allowed them, but she knew what she would find. She would find a face. A face, it would seem, that she had seen everyday for the past few months. It was a face that she knew, that she could read every expression and inflection of and that held a rarely seen, but beautiful smile. It was a face that Morpheus believed belonged to the One, a face that also belonged to the lonely man she had intended meet with that night and above all, a face that she now knew would never see hers. She looked into Neo's dead eyes, and resisted tears.

"Shit," she muttered.


	4. IV

Chap 3...nothing much to say about this, only that I'm sorry my chapters are still rather short, but on the plus side, it allows me to post more often! Still don't own the Matrix...

--

As Agent Smith regained control of his body, he came to fully realize that he was lying on the floor, covered in dust. The past few moments had happened in a blur and he was glad that his charge, Trinity, had been more aware then he. Otherwise, they would both be lying against the wall, her dead and him painfully regaining consciousness in another body.

Smith got to his feet, looking around methodically. In the middle of the now empty dance floor stood the Agent, green patterns and complex shadows dancing across him. His dark shades held a challenge.

Not having time for this, Smith darted towards the man and they quickly met in combat. The unknown Agent held the upper hand for most of the fight, though any blow from each was perfectly executed, landing with the utmost strength. This perfection meant little to the two opponents, though, as attacks were easily returned with just as precise movements. It was impossible for them to do no less; machine was fighting machine.

Finally gaining an advantage, Smith prepared one well-placed blow and intended to, for now, finish off this uninvited guest. Though if the man was indeed an Agent, he knew there was little that could be done to stop him from eventually returning. So had their programming been ingeniously planned.

But it didn't matter; the flawless attack never arrived. While taking a step back, Smith inconveniently placed his foot on a cheap, shiny plastic necklace that has been discarded by the fleeing crowd. He was thrown off balance and went sprawling to the ground.

Smith looked up his foe in bewilderment. The Agent pulled his gun out.

"I didn't do anything," Smith spat out at him, "Why do you want me?"

The unknown Agent just smiled a metallic smile, identical to every other Agent's. Only this smile held something different, something unintentionally more human. Yes, that smile held a certain level of cruel satisfaction, pleasured by Smith's helpless and enriched with self-pride, emotions very much human in nature. But the smile flickered back to the meaningless grin in a matter of seconds.

"It was…inevitable," the Agent said.

--

Trinity's heart beat faster than it ever had and her body struggled to catch up. He was dead. But he was the one, how could he be dead and gone? She pinched herself over and over again, maybe hoping that she would wake up and this would all be a simulation, with Morpheus standing over her to tell her the mistake that had been made, so she could go back and try again. But nothing faded.

She glanced down at her hands. They were covered in specks of bright red, blood from Neo's wound.

Trinity gasped for air. She felt like a wimp, allowing emotions this much leverage to her soul, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. Slowly, the tears began to fall, and the world melted away as she let her sorrow, her despair for a man she had never met, consume her.

--

The Agent had aimed his gun when a sound reached his ears. A quiet sob, emitted from the far corner of the room.

It distracted the Agent enough for Smith to jump to his feet, but his attempt to grab the gun failed. The man whirled back around in time to catch him with his hand on the weapon. Their momentary struggle resulted in two randomly shot stray bullets. One imbedded itself deep in the far wall, whizzing directly past Trinity.

It jerked her out of her own little world and she lifted a tear-streaked face towards Smith and the strange Agent.

The other bullet had found its way to one of the few green lights that gave the room its dim glow. Upon the collision, the center of the room went eerily dark, side lighted only by the two or so whirling lights left.

The shots had reminded Smith.

"The gun," he announced, 'Trinity!"

He needn't have called her name as she knew exactly what he meant. She had awaken from her state of shock in time to remember Smith's gun. It had remained by her side through the entire disheartening discovery.

Despite her still drying eyes, Trinity knew she had to focus, and even found the distraction comforting. At least this life and death situation took her mind off the questions that invaded it, including ones that would probably never be fully answered.

A quick flick of the wrist later, she was on her feet; a bullet shot through the other Agent. His dodging action separated him from Smith. The avoided bullet took out the second to last light illuminating the room.

In a moment, Smith had made his way, inexplicably in the dark, over to Trinity. The other Agent was still finding his bearings in the middle of the dark floor.

"Give me the gun," he ordered, his urgency well felt.

Her red eyes studied him.

"No"

"God dammit!"

He began to wrestle it away from her, but her grip was strong from years of practice. They engaged in a simple tug-of-war.

"Give me the gun! Do you want to die?"

"I don't want to be you hosta—"

"You are going to let go when I count—"

"I'm not!"

"—Shut up! When I count to ten: one—"

"In your dreams, asshole"

"—two, three—"

"Besides, you'll miss"

"—four; oh no, I won't; five—"

"Yes, you will"

"—six—"

"Watch out!"

The Agent had found his way out of the darkness, and came upon them, towering as he sped out of the shadows. As the light reached his vicious face, both Trinity and Smith's fingers found the trigger. They pulled at the same time.

The Agent was too close to escape this bullet and he inevitably took it hard to the stomach. The body of a squat man wearing tuxedo dropped to the floor, a single bullet hole piercing his gut. The Agent was already gone.

Smith turned to Trinity and smiled.

"Told you I wouldn't miss."

Trinity didn't know whether to laugh or punch him.


	5. V

And here is Chap 5! And it's relatively longer too! Well, at least so the word count suggests. I thought that this chapter got more into the Trinity/Smith relationship...please tell me if they are acting out of characater at any point though...So, onto the fun stuff! No, the Matrix does not belong to me...but just wait till I rule the world :P

--

Trinity chose to punch him.

She wound up and delivered a relatively harmless but firm blow to his cheek. Smith was taken back a few steps; however he did not release the gun. He regained his balance and looked at her quizzically. If he were a dog, Trinity would've sworn that he had cocked his head.

Suddenly, he started to laugh. At first it was a cold, metallic laugh, but it soon gave way to a deeper, disbelieving chortle of self-realization. The feeling was foreign to Smith. He had never been in a situation remotely like this, relating to a human being on such a personal level. Sure, he had taunted them before and was programmed to find the easiest buttons to press when confronting an opponent. He was strategic in that way, but the methods of this human were subject to neither pattern nor equation. They were completely random and struck so deep a chord inside of him that a variety of conflicting sensations were produced, seeming only expressible through inexplicable laughter. The act wasn't a snide mockery of Trinity, it was rather just a manifestation of the bizarre circumstances. Was Trinity, for lack of a better term, playing with him?

It would've been a very reasonable conclusion, only Trinity wasn't one to mess around. Her face displayed nothing but a dead serious demeanor.

"What," she said aggressively, "do you find so funny?"

"Nothing," Smith replied, having calmed down. "You."

"Me?"

Trinity gave him a spiked look.

"Me?—how? I could—I could very well break your neck if I wanted to." she added hastily.

"But you don't want to?"

Trinity shifted her weight.

"Besides," Smith continued, "It seems Lady Luck has favored me with the weapon once again."

He tilted the gun into sight and in it Trinity could see the sole swirling light left, its emerald reflection caught in the dangerous silky black of the surface.

"Shit."

Smith resisted a smile.

"I think 'shit' would be a very adequate term. I have observed a certain love of swearing in your being and I was beginning to wonder when you would apply it to your…"

He made a unintentionally sloppy gesture with his hand.

"…predicament."

Inside, Smith was still slightly off kilter from his momentary lapse of composure, and this act of power brought him back to his reassuring comfort zone. His ears quickly picked up a muted siren. Determined to stay as focused as possible, Smith made a very rational decision.

"Let's move out."

--

Smith and Trinity easily made their way out of the club, slipping out an emergency exit to another alley. Avoiding the growing crowd, along with the law enforcement and probable Agents, was fairly simple, as they could easily disappear into the black shadows of the towering buildings. It couldn't have been more than one or two in the morning, but a crisp, fresh breeze that whispered daylight shook them as they hurriedly made their getaway. Smith pushed Trinity, who had set her pace in front of him, to move faster, despite the fact that he was the one who supposedly knew where they were going.

After a few more minutes of walking, Trinity realized that they were in a park. He led her through the hilly, generally deserted pathways until they reached a cavity underneath a dry bridge, where he gently pushed her forward into the enclosed archway.

"Not headquarters?" she asked.

"No."

There was certain heaviness to his voice.

"You knew that man, didn't you?"

Trinity's voice sliced through the sobriety. Smith stayed quiet as she watched him.

"He's an Agent, like you—"

"Be quiet, human." he interrupted, "I know he was an Agent."

"But not an Agent for the same side. At least not anymore."

Smith took a moment before responding, his response a subtle request to end the conversation.

"There is nothing for you to care about in the workings of the Agents. Despite all your futile efforts, you will never understand how we operate and therefore never be able to comprehend how we feel."

"Machines can't feel," Trinity said coldly, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her chest.

"We can, in a sense," Smith searched for words he never thought he'd have to explain, "If you knew what I just had to endure—"

Trinity exploded, her voice cracking.

"You?!"

A hidden dam had burst somewhere inside and she stood there in anger and disbelief.

"Tell me what you went through that you thought was difficult! What was so consequential?" she demanded, ridiculing the word 'consequential.'

Smith sighed and turned to face her full on, studying her fiery eyes. Somewhere in there he imagined a spark of empathy was to be had.

"Consequential? I was just shot at by one of my own. It was against our programming, against our ethics, and against what we stand for! And now I can't even return to any safe place I have—my home, my work—because I have no idea whether they'll shoot me the minute I step foot inside! Now, I can see how tonight could've been very upsetting for you, but—"

"If you're going to patronize me, at least put some sincerity into it," she interrupted.

Then, after a moment, "Remove your glasses."

"What?"

"Take them off."

"Why?"

"Because we're on the same side this time," she admitted, "You don't know what that man wanted any more than I do. But we are obviously both targets and since you and your narrow mind don't have the sense to figure this on your own, I see no option but to spell it out for you."

"I don't think you quite realize who holds the cards here."

"Someone else does. And someone infinitely more powerful than either of us. I want to be able to trust you. I have seen a side of you I never saw before when you were our enemy, both tonight, in that club, and…" Her voice trailed off and she glanced away, "…earlier."

"You're going out on quite a limb here, Trinity"

Her head snapped up at the use of her name, her real name. Maybe she was getting to him.

"I just watched a man I thought was going to save the human race from _you_ die tonight," she swallowed, "I need an ally."

"And you trust me?"

"Not yet, I don't"

"Good. You're smart."

"I know."

"What do you want from me?"

"For you to not harm me in any way, meaning that you should put down that weapon." She nodded towards the gun. "I want cooperation. And, justly, for you to tell me everything you know, hold back nothing. And you can start by taking off those ridiculous shades."

Smith looked at her contemplatively, then slowly reached up and removed the glasses. His eyes carried more vivacity then Trinity could've ever expected, but his brow was creased in worry.

"Happy?"

"Yes"

"What do you suppose we do now?"

"Wait. Until morning."

--

Trinity sat against the wall of the archway and studied the moss-coated bricks of the other side. Her head pounded with questions, but every topic she considered seemed surreal, surrounded in a thick fog that did nothing to clear a path to the truth. As she traced the murky outlines of the space, her eyelids began to weigh heavily, and she considered how long it had been since she'd slept. The previous day seemed to have taken place ages ago; the recent events in the club crowded her mind. From what she could remember, she must have been awake for over 28 hours. She hadn't slept very well the previous night on the _Nebuchadnezzar_. The _Neb. _That reminded her of the real world and the crew, who probably anxiously awaited her return. She'd been gone longer then planned and knew she'd missed her prearranged rendezvous. No doubt Tank would've been forced to disclose the details of her secret meeting to Morpheus. Trinity gulped. She'd made a promise to Tank to come back. She would, she told herself; she would. She just didn't know how or when. She made a mental note that the first item of business in the morning would be to convince Smith to let her call them.

She glanced up at Smith, who still stood right outside. He stood awkwardly, occasionally glancing down at his shoes. She thought she saw him biting his lip, too. He wasn't like the others, she supposed. Well, now alienated by them he was different. Her mind thought back to the club and the little squabble over the gun. In retrospect, it was a very childish and ignorant thing to do; their conflicting self-pride placed them both in danger. But it was the whole exchange that caused her to view Smith differently. The moment was so intimate, so undeniably human; she wondered why she valued it. Humans had faults, it was their nature; machines were flawless. And yet Smith hadn't played the part of the machine. The other Agent was the perfect one, finding targets even when he missed...dear God.

Neo. She knew something else nagged at her brain. She had thought she loved him. He had died so innocently, so unfairly, which she considered her fault. She didn't regret the gesture of going to meet him that night, as the words she had planned to speak had had the potential to change the course of the war. But if only she hadn't went, Smith wouldn't have been there to intercept her and without Smith there, the mysterious Agent would never have fired a bullet. And now the One was gone. She glanced away from Smith and focused on a barely visible smudge on the wall. Her eyes burned with tears again. She shut them to stop herself from crying, but swore she wouldn't fall asleep; she had to stay awake, alert.

--

A twig snapped, causing Smith to jerk his head around. He waited, his hand already reaching toward his holster. Another snap. He felt his breath quicken and his muscles tense. Then, a hoot.

Smith relaxed. Just a lousy owl program. Now that his head was facing that direction, though, he allowed himself a look at Trinity. She sat against the wall, her head tilted to the side. She had fallen asleep. Her breathing was shallow and controlled, and he thought he picked up a mild wheeze. Evidence of a snore. It was funny really, even the seemingly most collected of humans had faults. Earlier that day it had been his one and only goal to kill her. For once he was glad he failed. Not only did he need her to sort out this predicament, but there was something he admired in her strength. If you can't beat them, join them.

Looking away, the gray world seemed considerably lighter. Dawn was breaking, which meant that they would need to get moving soon.

He glanced back to the woman sleeping peacefully in the arch. In the light creeping over the surrounding trees, he could see that drying tears glistened on her cheeks. He decided to let Trinity sleep a few minutes more.


	6. VI

Thanks again to my reviewers! Just in case you hadn't noticed...Chapter 6 is here! A few notes: I hope I was making myself clear in the other chapters that this is an AT/AU because one of my proof-reading friends was having difficulty remembering that :P Also, ...I do not really know, I think thats it...ramble ends now.

--

As contrived sunlight slowly crept over grey city, the dull tones of the metropolis faded into a plane of pale, underwhelming figures. Day, it was supposed to be. And daylight, the word seemed as contrived as the light it suggested.

The white-haired man at the window was tall, stoic, and had a noteworthy face that suggested an unbelievably expansive vocabulary. He looked over the streets and high rises beneath him, feeling nothing but relief to be above these plebeians. Human life, he knew, was a futile and worthless existence. True, he was not of flesh and blood, but he assured himself that he knew what it was like to live, what life truly was meant to consist of. The best traits he could conjure up to describe humans, even despite his aptitude at elaborately weaving words, were foolish, insignificant, and vain. They were led by passion, rage and other irrational urges. Intelligence was a word they used to describe one who had appeared to interpret the material world, oft in a manner benefiting the rest; those ones only fell as ever gullible victims to the theatrics the machine world executed. And here, they had their insistent need for the simple passing of day and night to mimic what was once the sun, for their mere puppet show of shadows travelling across their roads and windowsills. It was so trivial. They were so trivial.

Yet if trinkets such as this were all it took to deceive them, he supposed he should be satisfied that they were not any more indicative when it came to accepting reality. When he had made the Matrix more than two centuries previous, his curiosity had been stirred by the lives of these mortals. The knowledge he had striven to collect and analyze regarding their lives had made the Matrix a work of genius. But these humans, in their unavoidable imperfectness, had caused more trouble than he deemed their unique life was worth and he no longer valued the prospect of living a fulfilling life as something they would ever be capable of. However, he may have had this epiphany too late, as the earlier programs…

He halted his train of thought.

No, he assured himself, the world of Artificial Intelligence had resisted that world, destroyed that world, and built a better one.

And any minute now, he knew, a subordinate would arrive to disclose the details of yet another successful circuit in the process of progression completed. The check and balance system would undeniably even out the equation.

He let out a hefty sigh and turned from his post at the window. On the outside he showed indifference, but the truth was venturing into the Matrix section of networking made him uneasy. Anytime he entered the mess of cables, his nonexistent skin tingled with something more than awe at his creation, a colossal feat built on nothing more than numbers and knowledge.

Glancing up at the clock, he noted that it was seventeen until seven. Two more minutes, as his disciple would never be late. He sunk decisively into a desk chair, mindlessly straightening the stack of paper in front of him. The black, typed scrawl meant nothing; props were all they were.

Another peek at the clock gave him one minute. He drummed his fingers impatiently. Schedules made the world run, but God, how he hated them. Patience was virtue, but virtues were human.

Finally, the black, stiff hand reached the forty-five minute mark. Thirty, twenty seconds now…fifteen, ten; any moment and the sound of the elevator would reach his ears…five, three, two…one.

The silence in the deserted office was deafening.

The Architect gulped. His calm demeanor gradually dissipating, he tried to slow his heart back down to its mechanical, measured beat. But it was to no avail; he was the master at fastidious planning, but no master at improvisation.

The elevator bell dinged, followed a few seconds later by the swinging of the lone door into the office.

An Agent stood there, large and commanding, but no more significant than any other appendage of the system.

The Architect folded his hands in front of him.

"You are late," he spoke softly. He found power in his stillness.

The Agent stood at attention for a moment, and then replied disjointedly.

"We had a…"

He chose his words carefully.

"…disturbance."

The Architect's heart raced again; he hated the way it pounded in this body, trapping him, suffocating him.

"Was the plan executed properly and fully?"

"Properly, yes. But…"

"But?" the commander dared him to continue.

"The rebel was killed, according to plan."

"And?"

"I was displaced because of injury before the mission was complete."

The Architect closed his eyes gently and breathed in. He opened them, leveling with the other machine. Keeping his gaze firmly on the erroneous, he rose and found his way to the other side of the desk. He approached the Agent, head up, his authority secured.

"Tell me, how did this injury occur?"

The Agent couldn't look him in the eye.

"I was…I was distracted."

"By?"

"By another human rebel's sobbing."

This caught him off guard. The Architect's words caught in his throat.

"They—it was crying?"

"Over the assassinated rebel."

The Architect considered the man's words, cursing humans, the blubbering fools, for their incompetence when it came to suppressing such emotions.

He turned his head towards the Agent, his lips barely moving as the air caught his next words.

"You know what will happen to you."

The Agent nodded solemnly.

"Deletion," the Architect stated.

He turned back to his desk, while the Agent, resigned to his fate, turned to the door. As he reached out to the handle, the Architect pivoted.

"Just to clarify, one last question."

The Agent stopped with his hand on the door.

"Does the One live?"

The doomed turned to face the omnipotent.

"The One," he returned slowly, "remains alive."

--

The sun had only peeked a few inches above the horizon when Trinity awoke to Smith's face peering into hers. Startled, she brought her head up quickly, making clean contact with the man's forehead. He was knocked backwards onto the pavement and although her temple throbbed with pain she leapt to her feet.

Smith, however, was just as quick. Soon, they were both on their feet, alert. Smith's glasses, Trinity noticed, were still tucked away in his pocket.

"Good," he announced, "You're awake."

Remembering how she had fallen asleep after specifically committing herself against it, she furrowed her brow. Or rather, she tried.

"Ow!" Trinity exclaimed, bringing a hand to an already forming bruise on her forehead, "You have a hard head."

"What's your plan?"

Smith's non-existent response to her mild attempt at a joke disheartened her and was definitely not going to be looked back on as an optimistic start to the day.

"Well, I was thinking—" she began.

"I've considered our situation and I believe it would be best to return to my headquarters."

Trinity gave him a disbelieving, appalled look.

"Right," she nodded her head in mock agreement, ticked that he had interrupted her, "I'm curious, how do you intend to do that? Just walk in?"

Smith nodded.

"More or less."

Trinity shook her head.

"First off, they would probably kill you and second off, what about me?"

"They'll let you in as a prisoner."

"No."

Her answer was firm and most definite. Even Smith wouldn't be arguing with the murderous look on her face.

"We could disguise you."

Trinity laughed.

"Any other ideas?" she asked, "Preferably ones that wouldn't work as April Fools day jokes?"

"What's April Fools day?" Smith questioned, downright serious.

"Never mind."

"I think it would work quite well. Dress you up in a suit. And the glasses you have, or so I assume. It seems to be one of your more favorite accessories of clothing. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if you could pull off this part more then adequately. You do have a reputation among us Agents for being just as deadly and durable in combat. In fact we call you—"

"Don't," she said quietly, "tell me what they call me. I am not like yo—them."

She wasn't sure why she had corrected herself.

"Will you do it?"

"Yes. As long as you do something for me."

--

The phone rang. It rang again. Trinity began to worry. A breeze rippled across her cheek, blowing some of her dark hair into her face dramatically. The hilly intersection stood in plain view of the surrounding city and the telephone booth felt exposed and vulnerable. And it wasn't helping her wary nerves that Smith stood only a few paces away; he acted like he was out of earshot, but Trinity knew that he would be able to hear everything she said. The phone began to ring a third time and was picked up in the middle.

"Operator."

The familiar voice washed over Trinity like wave of relief.

"Tank, it's me."

"Trinity!"

"Tank—"

"Quick—Morpheus!—tell me where the hell you are so I can—it's her!—track you and get you an out!"

"Tank, listen—"

"We've been so worried! I mean Morpheus—sorry, Trin, I had to tell him—has been doing nothing but pacing…"

"Tank!"

"And Mouse and Cypher! Get back here and tell us what happened!"

"TANK!"

The babbling on the other end ceased immediately.

"I'm not returning yet."

The considerably deeper voice of Morpheus resonated through the receiver.

"Why?"

"I'm—I'm—"

She glanced at Smith, who was pretending to study the building across the way.

"I seemed to have found another obligation."

"Trinity, as your commanding officer—and a friend who cares very much about your safety—I order you to tell me under what circumstances you refuse to lend you mind back to this vessel."

"It's Agent Smith," she confessed decisively.

Smith's head turned slightly towards her.

"I'm not hurt, nor, for the time being—" she looked at Smith, making brief eye contact as he turned to face the other direction, "—being detained against my will."

She heard Morpheus clear his throat.

"Then why are you still there?"

"Something is going on."

"Something like what?"

"Your One is dead."

The other end was silent, and Trinity waited stiffly. The wind was bouncing a discarded soda can into the phone booth and the quiet, hollow sound seemed to keep time with her heart.

"No, it can't be."

"Yes, Morpheus. Ask Tank to find him in the Matrix, he won't be there...."

Her voice faltered off as a low mumble in the background, Tank's witness, verified the truth.

"No," Morpheus's voice responded back, "Something is lying, deceiving us."

"I didn't believe it either. At least I didn't want to…"

"It isn't the truth, just another scam," he said resolutely.

"No, Morpheus," Trinity broke lightly, "I think this is real."

"Trinity," Morpheus sighed, yet retaining every bit of sternness, "Nothing in that world is real; you've seen the proof of it yourself. You're smart, talented, but believe me when I say that I have seen more than one young, promising rebel such as fall victim to such tricks. The programs have a way, Trinity, they have a way of getting into you head, of making you believe they are almost human. And when they have received your sympathies, they will use you against the entire resistance. Do not trust Agents. Do not trust _him_. I repeat, get away as soon as possible and believe nothing he tells you."

"He didn't tell me this. I saw it."

"Saw it?" Morpheus said, his voice rising, "You couldn't have _seen_ anything; there is nothing to see!"

"Morpheus, you know the extents of my devotion to you," Trinity said, watching Smith the whole time, "And I wish I could explain everything now."

"Trinity…" his voice wavered from the real world.

"But I can't. I may not trust him, but I trust myself."

"I order you to—"

"I respect you and I always will, but this decision on my own; God knows it's time for a choice to be mine."

She continued as Morpheus pleaded.

"Trinity. Please…"

"I will come back. I love the whole crew too much for me not to. But for now--"

"Trinity, no!"

"Goodbye, Morpheus"

Trinity hung up. She faced Smith, whose blue eyes peered curiously into her stormy ones. She had just disobeyed Morpheus, her superior and her friend, for this man, this enemy. What had she done?


	7. VII

I have to say that I had some difficulty with this chapter; halfway through I suffered a severe case of writer's block and honestly could get nothing written that I liked...but I apparently got over that and here is chapter 7! My main concern right is whether the story seems to be going somewhere and doesn't just appear as study of relatively normal interactions between Smith and Trinity, so any feedback on whether it is building or not would be greatly appreaciated. Thanks again to reviewers...

--

People had been exponentially filling the sidewalk and cars the street for the past half hour. Trinity waited patiently by the lamp, which was long extinguished. She'd sworn not to move from the spot.

To Trinity, Smith's decision to leave her unguarded spoke loudly if not definitely about his trust in her. Indeed, she had considered escaping, finding an exit and reaching safety. The opportunity lay right before her. But there was no way she would leave now. With safety there would be questions, and a wanted explanation for her actions. Smith required no explanation and, if anything, represented answers for _her_. No, she couldn't turn back now. She'd past the point of no return. The choice had been made and all that remained was a futile hope that the world would eventually show itself. Thus her consideration became no more than just a fleeting thought.

When Smith had left her, there had only been the rare early riser here or there; now a steady trickle of commuters darted across the street and emptied to and from the subway station. She decided that she would have a safer locale tucked away in the alley.

Reaching the corner of the block, she ducked into the relatively safe shadows. As she turned back to face the street, another hand pivoted her in the same direction. The collective forces spun Trinity around, revealing that the hand belonged to a returned Smith.

"You moved."

"I had to," came her answer, simple and clear.

The response wasn't sufficient for Smith, but with the coming of the morning, time was becoming of the essence.

"Put this on."

He shoved a plain, brown bag at her. A peek inside and Trinity discovered what she had expected. A plain white shirt, a black skirt and blazer and…a gun. That she had not expected. Yet some part of her had wondered.

--

Smith observed that his partner, which was a seemingly appropriate label considering the present circumstances, had shown a hint of surprise at the results of his early morning shopping trip. Nonetheless, Trinity had taken the bag without word and gone to change in the coffee shop across the street.

Smith hoped that he had not offended her. Offended her with his idea to gain entry, he meant. He supposed that there were other actions he may have done that displeased her, but she, he noted, had a particular sense of dignity that did not take kindly to intervention.

But he had his own dignity to uphold and he was protecting it in the way in which he saw fit. As long as she was cooperating, he wasn't going to push the matter.

A few more minutes passed without event and Trinity emerged from the café. She had ditched the paper bag and he could make out the bulge of the gun tucked into her waistband. The suit fit, but it was flat and angular. Smith had to admit that she looked perfectly alien and lifeless; the identical image of an Agent. There was something haunting about her in that costume. As awkward as the outfit seemed, the impression was spot on. Yes, this might actually work.

--

"Are we clear on the plan?"

Smith broke his death gaze with the imposing glass building he called home, turning back to Trinity. She watched with assurance.

"Perfectly."

"Good."

He reached up to fit his sunglasses to his face. She followed suit.

Stepping into the sunlight first, Smith entered the stream of commuters, chin up and confident and his pace brisk and urgent. This part of downtown was busier and more crowded than the neighborhood where the disguise has been acquired, but Trinity knew how to maneuver through people just as well as any Agent and kept up.

The building loomed ahead, slicing the air above the street like a knife. Upon reaching the revolving glass door, Smith stopped, hesitating. Trinity didn't expect this delay, but took no time in gently urging him forward.

"Move," she whispered distinctly.

They entered the building slowly. Trinity could sense that Smith was almost hyperaware of their surroundings; although his head stay focused forward, she caught a glimpse of his eyes under his glasses. They were frantically searching the room, searching for any indication that someone was onto them.

"Please remove any metallic items you might be carrying."

The security guard peered up at Smith. Taking a deep breath, Smith pretended to stare right back, but in reality he had made eye contact with Trinity. Her eyes gave him the answer. It was now or never.

All it took was a swift arm movement into his breast pocket and out and the guard was staring down the barrel of a very deadly weapon.

"Holy shit."

It didn't take long for the other guards to realize what was happening, but as they scrambled about, Trinity found three bullets three well-placed marks. The hostage guard gulped.

"Now, you are going to open that elevator," Smith demanded slowly, "not phone security, not call back-up, not talk to anyone, and just let my associate and I through. And I might—_might_—let you live."

His tone of voice gave Trinity chills. In the events of the past night she had forgotten that Smith was, above all else, a machine meant to execute orders. A machine meant to kill.

The man nodded hastily. With the gun still trained on him, he shuffled over to his podium.

"Come."

Smith gestured for him to follow them to the elevator. As it arrived, Smith gave Trinity an unreadable look, and jerked his head towards the man now busy messing with the control panel. Taking a deep breath and looking at her feet, she cocked the gun. With difficulty, she lifted her head back up, bringing the weapon level with the man's temple.

"No!" he screamed in sudden realization.

Trinity meant to pull the trigger. Really she had. In fact, in retrospect, she would have also certainly recalled killing the man. But at that moment, glaring into the man's eyes, she couldn't do it. It brought back memories of another, unmentionable incident…

Instead, the shot came from Smith. The last security guard dropped dead to the floor, a bloody hole piercing his head.

Ding. The doors to the lift slid open, beckoning the two outcasts into its reflective interior. They returned the call by entering.

As they rose towards their destination, Trinity stared straight ahead, determined to avoid conversation with Smith. Not now, not here. Fortunately, Smith kept silent; little did she know, he also felt words would have no use at the moment. The two just stood silently, the air electric with adrenaline.

Finally, their ascent halted. Trinity straightened her skirt as the doors opened with a small clunk. They emerged into a deserted hallway, the atmosphere calm but stolid; the demeanor of the place devoid of life.

Trinity immediately began to doubt the success of their mission. She may have looked the part, but she didn't feel nearly as arranged or flawless as the impeccable tiles lining the ceiling and floor. She didn't blend into this dead environment, she stood out. Her heart beat fiercely, pumping warm blood about her body; this only caused her to become even more conscious of her presence in this unnatural place.

Smith sensed it too, but said nothing. Interesting it was and as much as he cared about how Trinity felt, they needed to move. He figured, if Trinity's humanity remained anonymous, that they had less than fifteen minutes.

He approached the lone door at the far end of the hallway. Retrieving a card key from a pocket, he brought it to the keypad. Without warning, he froze in midair. This wasn't smart. It was the only way he had ever known to get in this door, but now it didn't feel right. Then he realized. Lawfully gaining access to the offices beyond would put him back on the map, as part of the system. They had been lucky in that, as the Matrix was of incalculable size, it was a long shot that his location could be quickly traced. But as soon as he slid that card through that reader, they would know exactly where he was. He'd been rejected by the machine and thus could no longer act like one. It was an epiphany that hit him hard.

But Trinity, who had easily sensed the hesitation and maybe even comprehended a portion of the realization, had been living above the laws of this nonexistent word for years. Gently pushing Smith's hand down from the reader, she assured him.

"We can't go in that way," she commented calmly, "Accept it."

Confiscating the small rectangle of plastic, she rotated it so that the round edge could easily fit into the crevasse between the door and its frame.

"Let me handle this."

The pro began to pick the lock and after less than thirty seconds received a satisfying click.

Trinity opened it slightly, just to ensure that it would, and then turned back to Smith.

He studied her though his glasses. His expression was filled with angst and his eyes reflected those of an injured animal.

"I can't…" he stuttered, looking beyond her to the partially adjacent threshold, the full weight of the situation crushing his so carefully programmed, perfect reality, "In there, it's…it's not the same—different…changed by something, changed by…"

His eyes met hers.

"Sometimes change is for the better," she reasoned softly.

Smith took in a sharp breath, complacently accepting the facts simply because time still raced forward. Yet it raced to an end he had once always assumed he'd known; he knew no longer.

Trinity decisively turned and prodded the door open. She glanced at Smith, who nervously glared ahead.

But when Trinity turned her head back to the doorway, she discovered that lay beyond was far from what she has expected. Or rather, who she had expected.


	8. IIX

Wow. I can't belive I've gotten this far on an actual story...hope you enjoy it! Not much to say except that I'm kinda going out on a limb here and giving the architect crazy, god-like powers. But technically he is a god, so...anyway, I'm not sure how many more chapters there will be, but I am kinda hoping that this chapter and the next will be a sort of climax and after that will come some explanation. Once again...reviews are very much appraciated!

--

It was a face she recognized, but whose presence was more than anyone would believe. Even Smith stood confused beside her, his uncertainty melted into pure perplexity. There was nothing either of them could do; utter shock drove each into the floor, cementing them to their place.

Filling the doorway was none other but Smith.

Not Smith, the Smith standing next to Trinity, but still Smith. Or, at least, a derivative of him. Trinity jerked her head back and forth between the two men, trying to decipher which was the natural man and which was the spirit.

Smith, the one Trinity now knew, sprung into the room headfirst, his aim to, if not disperse this hallucination, than to at least knock it off its feet. To his surprise the identical Smith took the blow rather well, allowing himself to be carried back into the room beyond the door.

In the same instant Smith crossed the threshold, the door Trinity had unlocked with such care began to swing shut by some invisible, unnatural force. She took the handle with force and dug her heels into the ground, but to no avail. The door was unstoppable and dragged her along with it. The closer it came to shutting, the smaller the sliver of Smith she could see got, until finally, the door slammed with a resounding thud and brief click.

--

Smith hastily found his way to his feet, his heart racing. The room was different. Instead of the expansive hallway he'd known, it was just white. A white room with no exit or entrance besides the one door.

The other Smith had gotten to his feet and approached Smith. As there was nowhere to run or hide, he took his time. One foot after another echoed against the blank, hard floor with undeniable precision. An empty sneer crept up his face as he eyed the caged rabbit.

Wishing to delay the inevitable, but all his tactics seeming to rush from his brain, Smith turned one thing he knew he might catch the program off-guard with. Words.

"A clone," he stated simply, "And how does it feel to be nothing more than a copy?"

The advancing man stopped.

"Wonderful," he cooed, "I know exactly who I am, what I want. I am you, essentially. But I am you of the past, of a life already lived. Think back three days ago. You knew who you were three days ago."

The extent of the program's words intimidated Smith, scared him a bit.

"I've grown," he managed to get out, "People change…for the better."

"You are reciting the words of that human."

He didn't bother to ask how he knew. He was a machine after all.

"She confuses you; you don't understand who she really is or what she wants," the man continued, "You can't, we're not human. Our world isn't that complicated. You perform your task, complete your purpose and you're done. There is nothing more to it. No confusing subtext, no indirect requests, just life and death. Look at me. I'm content. I am you contented in the past."

He took a step towards the unmoving Smith.

"Now, eliminate her, like you have intended to do all your worthless existence. Clear your mind. Come back to our organized, clean reality."

He smiled blankly at Smith through identical glasses.

"But, perhaps you say, there is meaning to these lives? To her life? Well, to tell you the truth, I hate this place. And I am you."

--

Trinity paced frantically up and down the hallway. Her knowledge of what was happening was limited to what she had just seen, and that did nothing but spur a million more questions.

She suddenly stopped pacing and the hallway became eerily quiet. Silence. It helped clear her head for a moment, but not much longer than that. She turned back to the locked door. It was so simple really, just a physical barrier, a slab of metal resting on hinges. And yet it separated her so clearly and decisively from where she wanted to be.

--

"Your silence most offends."

Smith stared into his doppelganger's face.

"I am not you," he said slowly.

In one smooth movement, Smith made contact with the other Smith's face; the blow taking him by surprise. But he swiftly returned with a well-placed counter-attack, knocking the real Smith to the ground. He rolled over to catch the man's foot, bringing him to the ground as well. The two tussled on the ground for a few minutes before the other Smith brought a sharp blow to Smith's head, knocking him violently into the ground.

As Smith tried to collect his bearings, the world around him spun in circles. Why was this happening? He was machine, impossible to injure or defeat. Wasn't he?

The Smith reached under the crumpled Smith to retrieve his gun. He brought it to the submissive one's head. Smith closed his eyes, assuring himself that all a bullet to the temple would do was force him to relocate. But even he doubted that reassurance. The laws of his reality had changed and all the conventions he had always taken for granted were slowly slipping away.

--

Trinity berated herself for not keeping the door open. She could've done it; she wanted to believe she was fully capable. But inside she knew that quite simply, whatever minute strength she had was frankly no match.

She traced the outline of the iridescent tiles, perhaps hoping that the gridded lines would reveal just as logical a solution as the orderly world they portrayed. In time they did; her scouring eyes found the key. Literally. Or rather, keycard, as it were. The same one she had halted Smith from using minutes previous and, in the startling discovery of who waited beyond the door, had dropped without second thought. She wondered if it would still work despite the obvious changes in the Matrix that lay behind the door.

Her hand flew up to the reader, but, for the second time that day, the card was delayed from serving its purpose. She had heard a muffled gunshot from beyond the door shrouded in secrets.

--

Smith waited for the pain and blinding light, but it never came. Cautiously, he opened his eyes a crack. He couldn't name at what point he had closed them. The Smith clone stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over. It took a moment for Smith to realize he was dead.

Like,_ dead_, dead; gone. Not even removed to another body.

Shoving his look alike off of him, Smith searched for the bullets origin. But the room was empty.

With surprising instinct, he called out.

"Hello?"

Click. The lone door unlocked and opened with haste, revealing a relieved, but thankfully, unharmed Trinity. She stopped right inside the door, glancing around to note her new surroundings. Then her eyes found the dead Smith.

"What?" she stammered.

She reached for her gun and brought it threateningly and tremblingly to Smith.

"Which one…" she demanded, "…are you?

"I'm—" Smith tried to find the most convincing words, "—I'm the one."

Trinity didn't lower her weapon.

"I don't believe you."

"Please."

He took a step towards her.

"You know it's me," he acknowledged simply, "otherwise you would have pulled that trigger by now."

--

The Architect watched the scene below with a shrewd eye, his arms crossed assertively over his chest. The security camera feed was grainy, but he had a peculiar sense of intuition and could read the faces like one reads a book.

So far things had been going his way. The loss of the Smith clone was also the loss of a valuable asset, but he could get over it. Revealing him had been an essential part of explaining to Smith. In this case, at least the poor program would have some understanding at his termination. But first there was another matter to attend too.

--

"Trinity…"

Smith took another step towards her.

After studying him carefully, she began to lower the weapon, but keeping the gun trained on him for as long as possible. Yes, she saw him now. He was the Smith she knew. His exhaustion and discomfort were manifested in every tiny wrinkle in his clothes, but his face held that human spark she had seen in no machine—until him.

--

Any moment now, the Architect supposed. Any second and their destiny would no longer be arbitrary. Any time, and the fate of the machine world would continue on its predestined course. All he had to do was remove temptation.

--

The two stood looking at one another, each tempted to say something, but both afraid to say it first. Then, with out warning, Trinity stepped slightly forward towards Smith.

In less than a second, a bullet split her side. She crumpled forward into Smith, his arm catching her other side. Without thinking, his brain only registering that she had just been shot, he swung her up into his arms.

He had forgotten all the burning questions, her doubt, everything. Only the precious cargo he carried scorched his mind now.

The door.

It remained open, just as before. If it weren't for the intense situation Smith would have laughed. It was a classic programming mistake, a simple error; someone had merely forgotten to close a parentheses.

--

Damn, that was all the Architect could think. Damn the door and whoever had forgotten to program it to shut. Damn himself for not placing more clones in the hallway. Damn those damn unpredictable humans and their silly concepts of trust and emotions.

--

Trinity remembered leaving the room and the hallway as a no more than a blur. She floated in and out of reality. And through it all there was that face she caught of glimpses of now and then, the one that peered uneasily into hers.

The last thing she recalled as she was leaned gently against an elevator wall was Smith's eyes. They sparked a place within her; a place in her conscious that had haunted her for the past three days…

--

The encounter had occurred in the abandoned building. Night hung thickly over this dumpy part of town, making it a rebel safe haven. Her whereabouts had been betrayed, or so she assumed. After successfully disposing of the police, she first met him in the hallway.

That was back when her instinct had been to run the other way. Flying across building tops and streets far below, she'd been certain she could escape. But all it took was one misplaced board for her to lose her footing and tumble noisily into a fire escape.

Her enemy was right behind, landing with an aggressive thud on the metal. She overcame the pain the in her ankle to momentarily overpower him. Soon the gun was in her possession.

The Agent had turned to look at her, making sharp eye contact. His gaze had hit her hard in the gut, twisting her stomach until she had to look away. Her queasiness bugged her.

A moment's delay was all the Agent had needed. It wasn't until the power shifted from Trinity to Smith that she realized she had spared him at the cost of her own life. She wasn't going to get out of this one alive.

He had sneered at her, insulted her, as he prepared to make the kill. She hadn't listened. It was a typical Agent mantra. He'd ranted about his superiority, even about his own personal superiority.

She didn't remember any of it. What she did remember was that he didn't kill her. Not that night. In the middle of his rambling his hand had brushed against hers and he froze. He had stayed like that for an eternal minute, just looking at her. Then he had slowly loosened his grip on the gun and let it fall multiple stories to the busy road below.


	9. IX

Incredibly short, but (at least I think) pivotal chapter ahead...more A/N at the end, I guess...

--

Smith ran, slipping in and out of the checkerboard shadows thrown across the street by the uniformed buildings. He ignored the curious stares of the inhabitants as he pushed them out of the way, desperately trying to find a place to recover.

Paranoid and neurotic, he stopped for a moment at the corner, swinging his head around for any indication of danger. Instead, he found the ideal safe haven. It was too late to be discrete, so all he could do was file his way through the pedestrians and hope to reach the stairs that descended into the subway station unscathed.

Success was his and as he made his way underground, the atmosphere changed. It was no longer a constant, perpetual din, but rather a humid silence penetrated by the occasional rumble. It calmed him immensely. The station was small, but a bench conveniently tucked itself away in the corner.

Gently placing his precious cargo onto the seat, he leaned Trinity's head against the wall. Then he took a look at her wound. The gaping hole in her side wasn't a pretty sight, and the image of it caught in his throat. It wasn't fatal, he tried to assure himself; she couldn't die now, not when…not when what?

When he thought he had discovered the answer. No, the answer wasn't it; there wasn't a simple calculation to this situation and thus never could be a simple answer. This he realized; this he had learned. What he meant was this woman had showed him a life outside of the box, that life was more than your own straightforward purpose. Purpose was a word colored by many definitions, many possibilities. And what if that purpose simply entitled you to spend it with someone you loved…

Love. That word. Much to his surprise, Smith didn't hate it now. It wasn't a silly word concocted by humans to describe a phantom, a ghost they tricked themselves into believing. Instead it was a word that made his heart beat, that made him feel alive despite the fact that he knew he was only a mess of wires and some hasty programming. It was a word that gave direction.

Nonetheless, he was a mess.

"Smith…"

Trinity's eyes fluttered open and slowly her eyes began to focus on the man in front of her.

"What? What happened?" she said, her voice raspy and dry.

Smith didn't want to tell her the truth.

"Nothing you're fine."

But how could he keep lying to her?

"You got shot."

Trinity's eyes flew open and she tried to sit up briskly.

"What?"

Smith reflexively placed his hand on the side of her face to push her back down, but instead immediately recoiled. Never before had he touched her skin. She was cold; no, not cold, fresh. Trinity wasn't warm or humid like the subway tunnel and the rest of the world. Touching her wasn't stifling or uncomfortable; it made him feel rejuvenated, clean, as if there was something about her that would wipe him free of all his sins.

As Smith had retreated, there was nothing to stop Trinity from sitting up as straight as could despite her injury.

Tenderly, Smith reached forward again, this time slowly and deliberately, bringing his hand to her cheek. He cupped her face in his hand. She didn't pull away.

Smith gazed into her eyes calmly, the faint voice of his clone echoing ghastly through his head. _But, perhaps you say, there is meaning to these lives? To her life?_ Yes, there was meaning. There was more meaning than could ever be programmed or calculate. This meaning, he saw it. He saw it embedded deep in her grey, marbled eyes that watched him; they revealed every tiny secret of her soul to him, all in that moment. And suddenly, he wanted more than ever to be part of it. Renewed energy returned to him, clean and anxious, and urged him to pursue it.

He leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on her lips.

--

She closed her eyes and let him kiss her. It was just a kiss, nothing more.

He may have been the enemy, but in that instant, she knew one thing; that somewhere deep in her heart, she had been, unconditionally, saving a spot for him. She felt whole again. The death of Neo, of the One, had seemed the end for her, but instead, it seemed only the beginning of a whole new chapter.

--

A/N: No, not the end of the whole story…though I could very easily make it…bwahahaha…kidding, I wouldn't do that. I promised an explanation for the Architect's actions....


	10. X

_AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I think I've finished it!….pardon that NONE of the logic in this makes ANY sense whatsoever and that the ending is completely lame…in all honestly I just wanted to finish this story and that is why this whole chapter is just an explanation and a crappy explanation at that ( I KNOW it's confusing, but just smile and nod and pretend you understand)(actually I had a longer and more complcated explantion for everything that occured, but that was even more confusing than the ambiguity I display here, so...)...anyway, thank SO SO SO SO much to everyone who reviewed and helped me with my first foray into fanfiction! I'm not sure if I will write another Matrix fanfiction, seeing how I am an obsessive person by nature and my obsession with this has moved onto other things, but if you are intrested in the other fandoms I am writing for, do check my stories out! (shameless plug accomplished)_

--

Where there were questions, answers were to be had. And in the Matrix there existed one singular place to go if seeking them: The Oracle.

Trinity led the way quietly, although she knew the following Smith ached to regain his leadership. Too few words had been spoken since their exchange in the subway station; whatever passion, or, dare they ever admit it, love they shared was not to be explained by either and they knew it. Any attempted justification would only be futile. It was best they left their thoughts unshared.

Eventually, Smith's previous forwardness all but subsided and Trinity occasionally glanced behind, silently taking in the man as he stumbled along, dividing his attention between her and the ground. He grew visibly nervous as they approached the dilapidated building.

Once inside, Trinity headed for the elevator. She stopped with her hand mid-air, about to press the scratched and worn button. A quick turn to Smith revealed to the man that she was just as shaky and unsure.

"We don't have to do this," she said to him, her eyes searching his worried face, "We could leave now, unnoticed, without the answers. We don't need them to survive."

Smith tensely shook his head.

"No. You don't need them, but I do. Answers, products, outcomes are the purpose of my life."

Trinity tentatively placed a hand on his cheek.

"Were. They were your life. It doesn't have to be about the result anymore. Don't be afraid to just accept the journey."

He swallowed conspicuously, his gaze holding Trinity just as she was holding him.

"You're just as curious," he said slowly, "And if she does tell us what we want to know, perhaps it will give you even more information to take back to your leader."

"Since when have you cared about Morpheus?"

"He will undeniably play a part in how this all ends."

"What do you mean?"

"Whether you stay or not."

"Stay?"

"In the Matrix."

"Whose side are you on?"

"I don't think I can answer that yet."

Trinity slowly recalled her hand from his cheek, her hurt eyes dropping to the ground.

"But I could never leave you," he added.

Her eyes flickered back up to his face. The angst in the room was brimming and she didn't know how to quell it. She had never felt this devoted and lost. Swallowing the moment of helplessness, she smiled a meaningless grin more characteristic of an Agent than herself.

"Let's see what the Oracle says."

--

"A bit early," the woman mused, her ancient, wrinkled eyes surveying the ragtag team on her doorstep.

Beyond her, the apartment was eerily empty. Never before had Trinity experienced the door being answered by the Oracle herself; she usually kept to the kitchen.

Smith tilted his head to ask Trinity a question, but was interrupted.

"No," the Oracle said in answer to his unspoken question, "But I do know most."

She turned to lead them back into the kitchen, the elderly woman collecting an object from a dark, wooden side table as she entered. Once inside, she pivoted back to them, a hint of a smile tugging at her worn lips.

"Then I take it you are already aware of what we wish to learn," Smith spoke assertively.

"Sure, but I want you to say it."

"Why?"

"It helps the truth go down easier."

"I thought you had cookies to do that," Trinity smiled coolly, trying to ease the tension.

The Oracle sighed, turning her back to them again and swinging the door of the hearty, old fridge open.

"Pardon me, but no cookies today. How about some pudding?"

The two looked at her questionably.

"I felt it was time for a change," she shrugged.

"A change…" Trinity spoke, "Is this a sign—"

'Oh, darling," she said, receding from the fridge with two small glass bowels in hand, "Don't read too much into it. What I do has no consequence. It's what I tell you that matters. You of all people should have realized that."

Trinity glance away subtly, avoiding eye contact with the Oracle and Smith. This old woman, whether intentionally or not, was wrong. Something had changed; a great many things had changed. And not just for her either. Trinity observed Smith, who had just reached down to turn the pudding around and give it a scrutinizing look.

Trinity lifted her head back to the Oracle, her look the same temperament as Smith's death gaze to the custard dish.

"Then what do you have to tell us?"

"Only that you will be making some monumental decisions and playing some essential roles in the coming era of mankind." She nodded gracefully to Smith, "Quite ironically, him especially."

Smith jerked up to her at this comment.

"Why? Why am I so important to them?"

"Glad to see you at least figured out you were important on your own," the woman sighed, letting her eyes wander from the scowling man demanding answers to the ticking clock on the wall, "It does save time, but then how subjective time can be…five minutes can seem a lifetime when a man's waiting for the right moment."

Her two guests made discreet eye contact, each reading the glint in the other's eyes. The Oracle smiled fully for the first time, but the two were too otherwise engaged to notice. The Oracle broke the tension lightly.

"You've always been special, Agent Smith."

"Please, just Smith."

"I knew you would request that."

"Then why not just refer to me that way in the first place?"

The woman just lifted her eyebrows and gave him a minimalist answer.

"It had to be your decision," she stated before moving on, "The machines have had their eye on you for a while—Smith. There was something odd about you and they knew it. They had planned it that way."

"Control," Trinity stated bluntly, giving a clear indication of how she felt about that word and what it signified.

"Their control reaches farther than any of us could ever imagine, Trinity. But that's not the point. The point is we now have proof that they are not completely omnipotent—and an opportunity comes with that proof."

"Me," Smith muttered quietly.

"It makes you wonder, really, what caused it," the Oracle mused, seeming to look past the human and machine in front of her, "Maybe it was just inevitable. The A.I. had to learn from humans; what other prototype would they have? Perhaps…" She sighed. "Perhaps I should explain a bit."

She gently took a seat and began to eat one of the untouched puddings. She seemed shaken, so unlike her flawless and charming, if ambiguous, self.

"I just can't believe it has actually come this far, that it has evolved into something this far-reaching."

"But I haven't done anything yet," Smith countered, "I haven't even made the decision whether I really am, dare I say it, turning against my kin yet—"

"Oh, but I believe you just did."

Smith fell silent, seeming in his quiet to absorb the impact of his actions. The Oracle continued.

"In the very beginning, when the Matrix was first created, our dear Architect found your race a rather curious study. He claimed that the various human weaknesses he worked into your programming were merely to help the Agents blend in—retaining their ability to carry out their duty, of course. I always figured it had to be something more. Indeed, as the A.I. slowly garnered the ability to feel, the risk of a human infiltrate grew greater. With this danger apparently blending in suddenly became less of priority and the programming was deleted out of the Agents. Yet some coding remained behind."

"That is why I feel this way? Some of that programming remains in me?"

"Yes—but that isn't all there is to it."

"What do you mean?" This time Trinity had spoken. Indeed, the Oracle's words seemed to have had more of an impact on her than even Smith.

"Other Agents and programs of the system have it in them too."

"Other programs?"

"Yes. You've read poetry?"

"I have," Trinity answered at Smith's shaking of his head.

"Anthropomorphizing—giving human characteristics to an item that is not human. Let's just say that some of those artists were more inspired then people give them credit. The sun does really smile."

Trinity smiled too at this comment. As a human, something about that made her feel like the human race did deserve the elevated position they gave themselves.

"Still, why me?" Smith asked.

"There is no 'why' dear, you were randomly chosen. The machines needed someone with abilities to keep those who still posed a risk to the system with their emotions in check. And as you know, machines aren't that creative. They had found a method that worked with humans and adapted it to fit their own."

"I'm the One."

"To put it bluntly, yes. You're—"

"Perfect. From all that I can remember of my creation I have been a step ahead of the others."

The Oracle nodded, her face stoic. "Very much so. It was essential."

"But Neo was the One," Trinity butt in.

The Oracle took another long look up at the clock.

"Neo was supposed to be the One."

"Then your original prophecy to me remains true?"

"Depending how you look at it."

"It wasn't Neo that I was meant to love."

"No, dear, it wasn't."

Trinity looked up at Smith. She finally understood, but now was not the time to say it.

"The machines also gave you opportunities for power, skills that you might one day warp to your own uses against the system. Needless to say, you will never know what those might've been, but I'll just leave that out there for you to ponder. Of course, they always assumed you would be undone by your own emotions, that careful human programming would blind you until they could strike. A perfectly planned fault you might call it."

"But why have I never experience this before?"

"Oh, you have. Hate, anger, rage, frustration. I think if you look hard enough into your past you can find more than enough examples. These new feelings have been recognized now because, well, because you found her."

She looked expectantly at Trinity who in turn glanced at Smith. Something in her wanted to smile at that, to take Smith in her arms and just hug him joyously. But it was the saddened part of her that reigned right now.

"I'm sorry," she half-whispered to him, "I'm sorry that I made this happen."

"No," he responded, "I see no reason to be upset. And most definitely nothing caused by you. My feelings may in essence be contrived, me contrived, but you have opened up a whole new consciousness, one that is as real as can be."

He paused and an odd tranquility lingered in the room. It was unlike the previous tense gaps in their conversations; this quiet seemed to encompass all, to tie everything that the Oracle had told together in one large bundle. However many loose ends there were, however much the woman had neglected to tell them, the couple, for they welcomed that title now, felt as if they had the strength and the importance to infer the rest on their own.

"You bested the Architect," the Oracle spoke, breaking the silence, "So you must be beware him in the coming days. He will no doubt find your refusal to adapt to his system offending and put forth much effort to stop all your efforts."

She looked at Smith with a sort of impish glint in her eye.

"But you still found that one emotion that he didn't know how to control—love."

The Oracle, guiding them towards the door, smiled more widely than she had before.

"Both the machines and the humans place their trust in you. In you both."

They turned back to her once they had entered the hallway.

"Thank you," Trinity said.

"Thank you."

Studying them one last time, the Oracle also gave them one last piece of sage advice.

"A new world waits for you, if you can find it."

Shutting the door slowly, the elderly woman passed gently into the shadows and then was gone.

Smith turned to Trinity.

"Well, what now?"

Trinity smiled an all-knowing grin.

"We find our new world."

_fin_.


End file.
